The Apostate
by reading-is-in
Summary: 'If there are gods, but unjust, then you should not want to worship them' - Marcus Aurelius, 121-180 AD
1. Chapter 1

Ruby thought of herself as a pragmatist.  
She always had, and it was perhaps that tendency which had led to the great turning point of her first life – she was unmarried, and friendless in fifteenth century London. Last month, caught up in the festivities of the carnival day, she had lain with a man – and now she had not bled. Other than that, she felt herself - tried hard to visualize the possibility of life inside her, but the thought was too distant. Unreal. Uneasy.

The woman with black eyes had offered the solution – in the form of a solution, of all things:  
"Don't let a man touch you for this," she'd advised. "They are fumblers, those that don't hate us on principle. I can give you a solution that will rid you of the babe, and trouble you little. You will be sick for a day or two, but after that, it will be as though the whole business had never taken place."  
And Ruby feared for her immortal soul. The back room was smoky and dim, air heavy with whatever boiled in the pot on the fireplace. The shelves and every surface were cluttered with books. Ruby had never met another woman who could read before, and that intrigued her. But the strange sumbols, spirals and inverted crosses chalked on the walls and ceiling made her shift uneasily in her seat. The woman saw her looking.  
"What has the Church ever done for us, sister?" she asked sharply.  
"A priest taught me my letters," Ruby ventured.  
"A brave individual," the old woman replied. "I suppose his beloved brethren approved this?"  
"There was….dissent," Ruby admitted. The priest had been flogged: his superiors were ardent witch hunters, and considered it safest that women be kept in 'simple faith'.  
"There was once a wise man," said the old woman, folding her fingers awkwardly and hunching forwards across the table to hold Ruby's eyes, "Who lived long before the Church of our days. He advised, 'Live a good life. If there are gods and they are just, then they will not care how devout you have been, but will welcome you based on the virtues you have lived by. If there are gods, but unjust, then you should not want to worship them. If there are no gods, then you will be gone, but will have lived a noble life that will live on in the memories of your loved ones.'"  
Something thrilled in Ruby at the notion. "But," she said, "Would not a just god punish murder, regardless of the dictates of the Church?" Her hands rested uneasily on her still-flat belly.  
"Murder?" The old woman raised her eyebrows. "I know what the physicians do not tell you. If there is a thing inside you now, it is no person, but a seed. It has no thought, no feeling, not one of the properties of man nor woman. Kill it now, and it will know less of its existence than the fish eaten by the monks last fasting-day. And if you do not…they must stone you, and so be guilty of a murder you could have prevented, whilst you die a slow and miserable death. Or, you and the child must starve together, in exile and hiding, and so again you will be guilty of murder. In the ways of this wicked world, do you not see that it is better for the child not to come to being? To prevent suffering is good."  
Ruby nodded, slowly. The woman spoke well. And – she did not _want_ to die. The world was wicked, true, but there was joy in it. And she was a sinner already – who knew what the afterlife boded?  
"What must I give you?" she asked the old woman. The woman's eyes flashed black.

* * *

Now, even now, she did not regret it. Heaven, from what she could tell of it, was for mindless drones. Demons were individuated – some were sadists, shameless abusers of power, and some were here because they had signed over their souls for a thing which they desperately needed and which they had no other access to in their time. Sometimes their need was as simple as food – other times, as complex as a convoluted plot of multigenerational revenge. Many, such as herself, had given themselves for a thing other societies would've granted them in a heartbeat, freely. It wasn't the deal-maker which consigned one to Hell – it was the deal.

Still, she was alive in some sense, and what she had wanted as live. The halls of Pandemonium were a misery and a terror – but her forays into the upper world were life. She was herself then, and could breath the free air. It was more than could be said of God's masses.

Yes, she was a pragmatist – so naturally she planned for the end of their incarceration. Feigned to listened to Lilith's plans, that pretender, with her strident voice that echoed in the red-black caverns and set the fire-lakes to burbling. All the while knowing it was not _her_ who would free them. When Ruby had become a demon, she had inherited the Memory – the glamour, the rumour of Him. Morning Star, Brightest of Angels, yet born with a mind, He refused to bow to His father. Not long after she had lived on earth, had come His prophet, whose beautiful words they recited:

_What though the field be lost?  
All is not lost; the unconquerable Will,  
And study of revenge, immortal hate,  
And courage never to submit or yield:  
And what is else not to be overcome?  
That Glory never shall his wrath or might  
Extort from me! To bow and sue for grace  
With suppliant knee, and deifie his power,  
Who from the terrour of this Arm so late  
Doubted his Empire, that were low indeed,  
That were an ignominy and shame beneath  
This downfall; since by Fate the strength of  
And this Empyreal substance cannot fail,_

We may with more successful hope resolve  
To wage by force or guile  
Irreconcilable, to our grand Foe,  
Who now triumphs, and in th' excess of joy  
Sole reigning holds the Tyranny of Heav'n.

It stirred her. She told herself it was only for rational reasons, but in the secret depths of her long-preserved heart, Ruby loved.

A/N: As the summary indicates, the old woman's quotation is attributed to the Roman Emperor and Stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius, 121-180 AD. The verse, and the word Pan-demonium, are of the immortal _Paradise Lost_ (1667), by John Milton, 1. 105-124. Though it is purportedly a Christian poem, most critics agree with William Blake's judgement that Milton 'was a true Poet, and of the Devil's party without knowing it'.


	2. Chapter 2

Lilith liked to talk about her history. The first female human, as she claimed, she was punished for refusing to become subservient to Adam – quite reasonably, Ruby thought, though the part that usually came next, about mating with an archangel, seemed more dubious. Ruby couldn't picture any angels as the mating type, leave alone the arch- type. Other demons spoke of Lilith as the Great Seductress, and she bought the image, reveled in it, expanded and brooded upon it in her endless mire of stories.

In the beginning, though never quite sane, she had been a kind enough as a mistress. She constantly assured Ruby and the other contractees that they had done the right thing in signing over their souls:

"One day, my loves," she used to say dreamily, "The earth will pay for every wrong inflicted upon us," – and that made Ruby uneasy, but she didn't yet fear her. Lilith used to give Ruby freedom – letting her go into the world, experience parts of the centuries turning, before calling her back, implacable, but not cruelly. Then one day, long after days had stopped meaning the passage of time, there was a sound like air rushing and all the pillars of Hell trembled:

"Jake Talley is born," said Lilith, raising the impression of her large, liquid eyes: "The End begins."

After that, Lilith kept her servants close to her. Ruby was not allowed up to Earth. She nursed her resentment deep in what she still considered her chest.

"Getting predictable, Ruby," Alistair sneered at her methods as they worked. Unlike him, she did not enjoy torturing souls. Oh, she'd do it: it was preferable to being tortured oneself, after all. But she made no pleasure and no art of it, and now that she had no escape to Earth her distaste for it built and festered. "Perhaps you require a little….refresher course?" Alistair offered. He projected the impression of teeth, large and lupine. Ruby returned the sneer.

There were rumours. The vessels of the Last Battle lived on Earth – and of course, a series of prophets came. Azazel, ambitious and brilliant, went to Earth and bled into the mouths of nine babies. Talley was one of them.

"Unnecessary," Lilith scoffed. "Talley is the one your master will choose as his vessel. As though limiting himself to one of ithem/i were any way to conduct a war." She laughed.

"I do not listen to heretics" said Azazel serenely.

Ruby watched the children grow, as best she could discern them through the veil of blood and fire. She learned their names and powers; she watched as they began to crack and fissure. Jake Talley was a strong one, disciplined and not averse to necessary violence. She watched with distant approval as, aged twelve, Jake shot dead an intruder in their small home, who threatened him and his sister. Max Miller was a suicide waiting to happen. Lily was deep, introspective; her power was slow to manifest, but Ruby had the sense it would be terrible. Ava Wilson was quite the opposite: bubbly, cheerful, extrovert: there was no telling how that one would react to the manifestation. The non-identical twins were an interesting case: Andy, she guessed, lacked the strength to be what was needed; Ansem was unbalanced. Needy.

Then there was the Winchester boy, the one whose father had glimpsed the demon, and taken him as his crusade. That had not been Azazel's intention. Sam sought the other children purposefully, going so far as to interrupt the feeding of the ninth child. Ruby watched him hard. He was willful, determined, and killed even younger than Jake had: a werewolf, with silver, on his eleventh birthday.

"Let me go to earth," Ruby said to Lilith.

"Why, my love?" Lilith asked.

"I would know our adversaries," Ruby projected innocence.

Lilith smiled beneficently. "Do not fear. When the war comes, I will obliterate them all."

"But," said Ruby, "Would it not be best for me to learn of the form that ihe/i is going to take?" Then we can learn best how to destroy him." iThen I can teach it, nurture it properly. Grow it up to destroy you./i

Lilith scowled and sent a jolt of agony through Ruby, projecting distaste as pain curled and flared and briefly consumed her.

"You nasty little bitch whore," Lilith said sweetly. "You belong to ime/i. You're not allowed to play with ianyone else/i."

"I am doing this for you!" Ruby choked out, hating how pathetic she sounded. "Once ihe/i is inside, he will be limited by iit's/i humanity. Let me learn how to break it." No logic: even had she been able to reason through Lilith's inflicted agony, there was no reason for Ruby to think such would be the case. Indeed, if Lucifer was choosing to take on a human vessel for the Battle, she could only assume that would make him his strongest, most beautiful incarnation. But then Lilith had never been one for logic.

"Yes, I suppose you are," Lilith changed her mind abruptly. "Off you go then." She released Ruby.

"What?" Ruby's essence stuttered. The pain vanished completely, abruptly, from unbearable to nothing in less than an instant, and that itself was a kind of horror.

"Bring me tactical reports," Lilith flapped the impression of her hands. "Go to Jake Talley."

"And Sam Winchester," Ruby persuaded: "He is strange and strong."

"Yes, that one, if you like," Lilith shrugged indifferently. "Now, give me a kiss goodbye, my darling."

Ruby did, feeling nauseous, and Lilith sent a second sharp spurt of fire through her essence.

"Just don't forget you belong to me, you silly girl," she purred. "Sometimes I think you're my ifavourite/i."

iSometimes I think you are batshit insane/i Ruby responded mentally. iWait, make that all the time./i

Lilith sent her will towards the boundary, and a small, shimmering gap appeared. "Quick now," Lilith chirped, strained. Even for a demon of her rare and extraordinary power, breaching the threshold was difficult. Ruby hesitated, steeling herself for the horrors of the passage a moment. Then, in a quick, darting motion, she shot towards the opening as a black cloud, breached the boundary, and streamed for the upper world.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

With a rushing and groaning sensation, extraction, Ruby forced her being through the final barrier. The Guardians grasped after her, hissing, yearning, but she evaded their tendrils and clutching hands and emerged in the upper world suddenly. All at once, the resistance was gone. She stumbled. Drew herself up.

The year was 1998, as they measured it. The Earthly sense of the times flooded her: a deep seated fear and wild loneliness, coupled with boredom and ennui. Even the humans knew that the End was coming, at some level, displacing their awareness onto the wildest speculations: millennium bug that would somehow cause aeroplanes to fall out of the sky, the world's computers to crash . A secret stash of nuclear weapons in former Mesopotamia. A super-virus  
spreading from the hospitals to take out the human race.

Jake Talley was 15 years old.

Ruby touched earth in a rundown part of New York City, in the new country they called the United States of America. Casting a swift, unearthly eye over Talley's contemporaries, she appropriated the body she considered most efficient to capture the attentions of a 15-year-old boy – to wit, a 16-year-old girl. Rifling swiftly through her host's memories, she knew before she got out of bed that her vessel was Jenny D'Amato, that she shared homeroom and Maths class with Jake Talley, but that they had rarely spoken.

Ruby studied herself in the mirror of the small, cracked-porcelain bathroom. She was pretty: dark, curling hair, big hazel eyes, slim, and as good a complexion as one could expect from a vessel of this age. She enjoyed being pretty, warm and healthily alive, took a moment to revel in being incarnate before she felt the sharp, bitter tug of Lilith's displeasure.  
Ruby had rarely been in schools, and never in this century. They had let things slide, she observed to herself – the classroom was dull, paint chipped, with cracked window, and someone had carved an obscenity into her overused desk. The pupils thought they were dangerous – shouting, kicking their heels back, throwing things: a young coupl busily simulated intercourse through their clothing at the back of the room. Jake Talley sat alone, his dull eyes on the courtyard. In his hand he held a metal compass, twirling it absently, point always readied as a weapon. He glowed; any fool could see that. He did not belong here.

Ruby got up – some kid made a grab for her skirt, and she turned on him, allowed just a half-second's flash of her true nature to show through. The boy fell back, silent, gobsmacked. Ruby re-covered herself. She took a seat on the desk next to Talley, saying nothing. Her gaze followed his to the window, the concrete yard. The iron railings beyond. They could glimpse the buildings beyond – shops, mostly shut down, a corner store selling liquor, tobacco and candy. A trashed car, a whole car. A scrawl of graffiti, in good fortune:

_The King of Heav'n hath doom'd  
This place our dungeon_.

Ruby felt her vessel's eyebrow quirk.  
"Paradise Lost," Talley observed.  
She said nothing.  
"Didn't think anybody 'round here would know it."  
"You know it," she pointed out.  
Talley half-smiled: "Yeah."  
_"What peace will be giv'n  
To us enslav'd, but custody severe,  
And stripes, and arbitrary punishment  
Inflicted?" _Ruby recited.  
Talley looked surprised. The compass drooped in his hand.  
"You read?" he asked.  
"When it makes sense," she shrugged: "Jenny D'Amato."  
"I know."  
"So why don't you come talk to me? It's our minds alone in this…" she glanced around, vague, distastefully: "Mire."  
At that moment, a kid with steroid-muscles and shaved head grabbed her arm and jerked her towards him. she was about to annihilate him, on impulse, when Jake shoved him back and snapped,  
"Back off, Todd,"  
And she let him have his moment of macho indulgence. It wouldn't particularly do to get brains and skull fragments all over the classroom anyway.  
"Growing a dick at last, Talley?" Todd raised his eyebrows. At that moment, the classroom door banged open, and the class were distracted to roar at their teacher with raucous cheers and suggestions.  
"Hey hey hey, come on people, only five days to Friday!" called out the homeroom teacher, which raised a laugh and distractedthe pupils from their immediate fights and clinches.

* * *

Jake wanted to join the army.  
"Aren't you a little smart for that?"  
"Smart don't get you a job or a ticket out of here. War does." Jake shrugged, and Ruby couldn't fault his reasoning. They were walking together, after school let out, after she'd watched him destroy Steroids in hand-to-hand on the basketball court. Steroids had pulled a knife, and Jake had disarmed him. Ruby watched with interest if not admiration. Nothing these children considered violence could make an impression on her – but it was good to know he was fast, and disciplined, and self-contained in his misery. There was strength in that kind of containment. He gleamed, to unearthly eyes, but his powers were not manifesting yet. She sensed that they would be physical.  
"Army let you take classes," Jake went on, "And if you die, there's a regular pension they send to your family after. I got a kid sister to think of."  
Ruby filed that.  
"What will you do?" he asked her.  
She shrugged.  
"You oughta do something. You're too smart for this shithole, Jenny."  
"Yeah…but I got my responsibilities too, you know." Lilith throbbed satisfaction at that.  
"No doubt. This is where I get off. You okay to walk to rest of the way? Where you living at?"  
"I'll be fine," she told him, and watched him go, abandoning her vessel to observe him arrive at a dingy apartment, unlock, fix his little sister a sandwich, double-check all the bolts on the windows and doors, and listen to a screaming row and smashing of ornaments from upstairs.

Ruby meditated. He was strong alright. But. He was not – passionate. Dulled, already, by struggling up in this hard place. She had always assumed….that His vessel would be fiery and brilliant. Perhaps Jake would come to fruition. The army could render him soulless – or, it could kindle him, war being the closest approximation of Hell that Ruby had seen on Earth. She would visit him again, when he'd signed up, after his first tastes of destruction had left their mark on him. in the meantime, there was another to see. That wild card, the Winchester.  
Soon. But now, Lilith's claws were in, dragging her, spitting and crooning. Ruby nursed her hatred, kept it banked. Being tortured was bad. To be prisoner – she couldn't bring herself to think the word slave – to be at that mad bitch's beck and call, for forever, for eternity - _that_ was unendurable. She would not be. She closed her eyes and reminded herself  
of the Angel, chained to the burning lake, how He had drawn resolution from despair when hope was lost.  
Hell caught her up and drew her down.

TBC

A/N: _Paradise Lost_ quotations are from the 1667 version, Book II, ll. 316-17 and 332-35. Satan counsels resolution from despair at 190-91, and is chained to the burning lake at I. 210.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I learned the legend of Tailypo from the sweet and funny fic 'Unspoken' by Gekizetsu/**eighth_horizon**.

For an indeterminate time, Lilith gripped her. On occasion, Ruby reminded Lilith of the 'project'. But Lilith would just say, "Later, love. There is time", and pretend to stroke her hair. The creeping impression of her fingers made Ruby almost glad they were both non-corporeal. Meanwhile, Azazel flaunted his success with the Special Children, describing the favors that Lucifer would bestow on him:  
"He is not a despot who plays favorites," Ruby restrained herself from telling him. "He is a leader. He _rebelled_ against an arbitrary tyrant."

But she bided her time.

Lilith let her go again quite suddenly:  
"Go and see that other one," she seemed nervous.  
"Have you glimpsed the future, Mistress?" Ruby asked.  
"I am not sure," Lilith petted her face, edgily. "Go and see him for me. You were right, my darling: he is strange."  
And so Ruby endured the Passage again, and where she broke the veil, the year was 1996, as they counted it.

* * *

If it weren't for Ava, Ruby would think that the thing which connected the Special Children was misery. She located the emanations of the Child in question – Sam Winchester was in Maine, his father intent on a colony of tailypo dwelling deep in the forest. Ruby zoomed in past the white clouds, past the grey, past the sleeting snow and the building tops to the city suburb: Sam sat hunched in the living space of a rundown apartment building, his back to a failing space heater as he hunched over a textbook. Ruby entered through the crack between the window and the window-frame, reluctantly summoning strength through her tie to Lilith in order to cross the salt line. She hovered, and the boy looked up, startled. He glanced around uneasily, eyes going to the window, then the door, checking the salt – he got up and tested the door handle, calling,  
"Dean? Dad?"  
When there was no answer, he shook his head, muttered 'stupid', and returned to his textbook. Ruby cast out curiously, searching for the boy's family, but there was nothing for her to identify them by, no hook or catch. Resigning herself to wait, she recalled Him sitting like a cormorant in the Tree of Life, watching and waiting. She smiled to herself like that secretive bird, and silently thanked His prophet for the inspiration.

When the sky darkened, and the boy's breath came in white puffs as the heater failed against the increasing cold, there was a sharp rap and the door, as though with the butt of an instrument. The boy sprang up and breathed out, sharply:  
"Password?"  
"Ten Years Gone."  
The responding voice was deeper, but less than adult. Sam unbolted the three door bolts and stood aside to let a man and an older boy enter. Ruby assumed this must be the unfortunate family. Neither bore much resemblance to Sam, though they did rather strongly to each other: the same big expressive eyes, solid build and facial structures. The younger boy was narrower-framed, angular features of an almost Slavic cast. The man and the elder boy were both covered with a wet mist of half-melted snow, red-cheeked and dressed for the outdoors, in heavy boots and flannels. Each held a gun with experience.

"What's up, Sammy?" The elder boy was keyed up, happy, messing his brother's hair and slapping him on the shoulder before heading to the refrigerator. He retrieved two cans and passed one to his father with a slightly questioning glance: the man nodded and sat down, taking one can and opening it.  
"You got them?" Sam asked anxiously.  
"Most all," his father confirmed.  
It was strange to hear humans speak so complacently of the things most preferred not to think about.  
"We're heading back out tomorrow night," the older boy went out: "Make sure none of the furry bastards got away. Hey Dad, can Sammy have a beer?"  
"No. He can come scout with us tomorrow night, though."  
"I have a history test."  
"No you don't. We're out of here as soon as we clean this job up. Goddamn Maine winters." The man extracted himself from his wet jacket.  
"Oh my God," Sam groaned quietly.  
"Don't start that," said the man.  
"Dad, I don't want to go shoot at animals." Ruby felt her skepticism build – perhaps she'd been wrong on this count. A child afraid of a little bloodsport hardly seemed a likely candidate.  
"They're not puppy dogs, Samuel," snapped the man. "They kill people. Three travelers ripped up inside a week. You want more of that?"  
"Hey," the older boy looked meaningfully at the younger, something Ruby couldn't read: "It'll be fun. Like camping. There probably aren't any left out there."  
"And if there are, you need the target practice. You're coming." The man pinned his youngest son with an intent gaze.

The boy glared at the floor, miserable. Ruby pondered. He was sullen and petulant, but not weak. There was a spark here that could be nurtured. Suddenly Sam looked up again, almost in Ruby's direction. Hurriedly she retreated into herself. Two pairs of eyes followed the young boy's direction.  
"What?" the father asked quickly.  
"I just….nothing. A weird feeling."  
"Dean, check the salt lines, and lay some iron down. What kind of feeling, Sam?" The older boy immediately left the table.  
"I don't know."  
"Well what good does that do?"  
"I don't _know!_ Maybe I'm just being a freak again!"  
"Okay, okay," the man took a breath. "Go to bed, Sam. We'll double up all the sigils and keep one on watch tonight. It's probably nothing."  
As the layers of protection around the apartment strengthened, Ruby felt herself stretched thin. Her essence stuttered, just slightly. She retreated hastily, beyond the window, and settled herself – like the cormorant - in a tree just behind the apartment. She did not feel cold, being incorporeal, but the residues of the charms they had used still grated upon her. She watched the light and shadows inside the apartment window, the shapes of the two boys as they prepared for bed. The outline of the man in the kitchen window, upright, watching. Ruby could play that game. She withdrew herself into herself and brooded, waiting for morning.

TBC

A/N: The description of Satan referenced comes from _Paradise Lost_ IV, 194-98.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Warning: mild gore ahead.

There was little point in a possession at the moment: the Winchester boy's father was unwittingly providing as fair a test of mettle as Ruby could envisage. She hovered idly during Sam's school day, watching him turn again and again to check over his shoulder, as though there were a glint or shadow in the periphery of his vision. The amusement of that didn't last long, and the time was not instructive. The other students avoided Sam, and he avoided their eyes. One young, naïve math teacher of the bleeding heart persuasion attempted to ask Sam about his weekend, and how things were at home. when Sam handed in his assignment. He answered her with an implacable, 'Fine, thank you', and the woman watched him leave with a thoughtful, sweetly-sad expression.

Ruby retreated and conserved energy until nightfall. Then, she tracked the black Impala from its place by the apartment to the borders of the dense forest outside the city limits. The moon was half-obscured with misty cloud, and the darkness heavy. Snow was fresh on the ground, but not falling. Ruby remembered the feel of snow, fresh and biting and clear. The forest hulked black and impenetrable, branches scraping and rustling against each other in the wind.  
Ruby entered the car through the air vent, and Sam jumped. The father gave him a tight look in the rearview mirror, and the brother reached back from the front seat and punched him in filial reassurance. All three were dressed for the night and the weather.

"Alright," said the father. That was apparently the signal to move, as the boys got out promptly and the older oy opened the trunk of the car. The three distributed guns without comment, movements brisk and efficient. Ruby could feel the fear radiating from Sam, and she felt – disappointed. Which was stupid. The vessel she should want was the one most suitable, most perfect. (What did it matter if she felt for this boy, just a little bit, with his hard, distant, inexplicable father?)

"Dean, circle round and take Sam to the north-east mark we put down last night – I'll take the south-west. You have thirty minutes to get there: at 22:30 we start moving in. Regroup at the nest site at 23:00. Keep your eyes peeled for fresh kills, droppings or other new marks. This is just a reconnaissance mission, Sammy. There's probably none left out there."  
Sam nodded tightly and looked at the ground.  
"That's yes, sir," said the father.  
"Yes, sir."  
Something changed in the father's face. He said,  
"Hey…you perform well tonight, you can sleep in tomorrow. We'll skip the 06:00 run. How about that?"  
Sam shrugged and his brother knocked into him, as though to repeat the question, or perhaps demand a response.  
"Yes sir," Sam said again.  
"Move out," said the father, and Ruby followed the boys, with a moment of regret because the father was really starting to piss her off, and she would've enjoyed landing a tree branch on his head or some similar act of malevolence.

The 'mark' turned out to be an X, grooved deeply into the tree trunk. Sam followed his brother to it, his eyes more on his feet and than the foilage, despite Dean's repeated sharp reminders to look out, to be careful, to listen.  
"How am I supposed to listen with you bitching at me all the time?"  
"Get your head in the game and I won't have to bitch. Bitch." The older boy grinned at his own repetition.  
"So funny I forgot to laugh," Sam said, and Ruby shared his sentiment.  
"Okay," said Dean when they reached the X. "Five minutes. Then we're heading into their hunting ground." He had changed, suddenly. Intent. "Let me see your gun."  
"It's fine."  
"Show me then."  
Dean checked the small, lightweight hunting rifle was loaded correctly, then gave it back to his brother.  
"Now you stay close, and you keep your guard up. Dad wasn't kidding when he said these aren't puppy dogs. If in doubt, you fire, and ask questions later."  
Sam nodded.

And they started to track. Seeing her chance, Ruby slid into the body of an owl, silent and brooding in a tree bole. She blinked her new eyes, appreciating her sharp sight and profound hearing, and ignored Lilith's vague tug of disgust. Silently she tracked the trackers. She admitted a gruding professionsal respect for the elder boy – one killer to another. He was utterly focused, intent on prey, yet always aware of the younger child behind him. There were no sounds other than the wind and the woods, the odd bird call, the rustle of a rabbit. The older boy cocked his rifle at that; but the creature slipped away, moon briefly catching its leporid bound, and he lowered his gun. Breathed out.

A heady, rich scent filled Ruby's owl-senses, and she thought, _'meat'_, as Sam stopped short. He gasped and Dean extended an arm in front of him, abrupt and automatic.  
"Old," said Dean, and they breathed out in tandem, eyes on the part-frozen corpse of a fox, fur and flesh ripped open by a larger predator. Blood soaked into the forest floor, frozen where it had congealed, and an army of cold-hardy insects feasted on the remains. The owl-drive urged her dive and eat, but she resisted in case they were startled at shot this useful body.

"Alright," said Dean, when the moon had travelled, and the owl was urging her that the prime time for hunting had started: "That was the nest." He gestured with his gun towards an open tree bole, leading down into what must have been a den. Dark blood stained the leaves around the opening, illuminated briefly as the moon slid from behind a cloud. Nearby, the remains of a pyre lay, black char part-covered by snow. "Hey, we beat dad."  
"You shot them in the den," Sam said disgustedly.  
"Yeah, the pups. What? Trust me, dude…if you'd seen the parents….hey! What's that face for? Don't you pick now to go all fucking PETA about this! Give those things a year and they will rip you into shreds, you understand me? You want them breeding out here?"  
"Dean…" Sam was staring, wide-eyed, at the bushes behind his brother. An immature tailypo, more than a pup, but less than a full-grown, was poised, muscles tensed, in the undergrowth. It was watching the boys with its lips drawn back, emitting a low growl. The thing was lupine, dark-furred, glowing eyed, not as brawny as Ruby knew it would grow, but with glinting claws fully developed.  
"Shoot it," said Dean quietly, not turning round, but knowing full well what his brother was staring at. Shaking, Sam raised his rifle and sighted. Ruby held herself still, anticipating.  
"It's not moving," Sam whispered. "I think it – I don't think it's going to attack."  
"Shoot. It," said Dean through gritted teeth.  
The tailypo cringed a little.  
"I – think it's scared. It's the last one!"  
Ruby deflated in disappointment. This was not the Vessel. Well, it was silly to get attached. They were means to an end, nothing more. Talley's strength, hardness, realism was needed. She felt Lilith's thrum of satisfaction, her thoughts already turning to ways to destroy the would-be soldier.  
"I can't," said Sam shakily, and Ruby prepared to depart. Then a massive, huge-muscled adult tailypo sprang from the trees at the further side of the clearing, slamming heavily into Winchesters, and she stayed to see what would happen.


	6. Chapter 6

Both went down, the elder one somehow angling an arm across his brother. Jerking his rifle directly into the tailypo's chest, he fired three times into hair-covered muscle, bullets exploding through the body in a spray of blood, flesh and bone fragments. A fourth shot cracked across the clearing, striking the immature tailypo directly between the eyes, sending grey brain and pieces of skull splattering across the tree boles and announcing the arrival of the father.  
The owl thought the mess looked delicious.  
The father launched himself across the clearing and hauled the body of the adult tailypo off his children. He didn't speak, just pulled them violently to him searching for damage – they were both coated in blood, but it seemed the majority had belonged to the tailypo. The father hugged both of them fiercely and the elder boy hugged him back, putting one arm around his brother who just stood there, stiff and unresponsive.

"What in God's name was that?" roared the father, sitting back suddenly, breathing hard. "Who – what – what kind of incompetency…"  
"It was a trap," said the older boy woodenly. "The young Tailypo distracted us, and the older one pounced."  
"Why wasn't one of you covering the bushes!"  
"I was. I was too slow. I'm sorry. Sorry, Sammy." Dean held his father's eyes, who stared back at him.  
"Too _slow_?"  
"I was…sloppy. Didn't expect there to be any more."  
"Is that what happened, Sam?"  
"Um. Yes."  
Old Winchester stared at both his sons. Then,  
"You're both on double training from tomorrow. Be ready to start at 0500. Dean, your driving privileges are revoked until further notice. Now burn these," he indicated with his gun. "And no more _getting distracted_."

Ruby wanted to roll the owl's eyes. How perfectly noble. How naïve. They were as weak as each other. She stretched the owl's wings and talons, wondering why He did not choose the form of an animal and give it sentience: a panther, black subtle death, or a majestic lion. She waited until the Winchesters left, and the smoke of the pyre was fading. Then she dove, and gorged till the owl was full on the entrails of the tailypo.

Lilith let her go to Jake several times after that, usually when he was at war. Sometimes she a took a human form – an ally, a commander, an enemy – sometimes a desert dog or a lizard, sometimes a bird of prey. She was there the first time that he killed without feeling it. There when he started to think of people in terms of statistics. There the first time he experienced blood lust. And she advised him – in her many guises – on the necessity of violence, on patience. On pragmatics.

When Azazel's test came, she was sure. Lilith was sure. Azazel wasn't. He appeared to Sam, who had toughened – into arrogance and insecurity, Ruby thought. Jake was clever. His eyes burned with the banked fire already, as though his body already yearned to receive Him. His one objective was to get out, of which Ruby approved, and he let the now twisted and broken Ava deal with the messy part. And then there were two. Ruby watched, breath baited, as Lilith drew back the veil: Sam and Jake fought in the mud and rain of the deserted twon, punches and the clang of metal strange in the hollow air. Sam floored Jake; turned away. Started to stagger towards the older one; adults now. And Ruby knew before Jake did, when stood and hefted the knife. Lilith giggled. Jake stabbed Sam in the centre of his back, twisted the knife once, severing the spinal cord, to all effects killing him instantly. He fell to his knees; his brother caught him. Ruby extracted her gaze from the death. Well, well. There was no point in regret now, for her little wild card that wasn't.

"Now then love," Lilith was gleeful: "We must take him apart."  
_I must build him up,_ Ruby thought, watching Jake turn and run, flee Cold Oak and the other hunter, run until he was gasping, alone, bent over with his back to a tree in the deep wet woods. He did not cry. He was ready.

* * *

But of course, Sam was never the wild card.  
Dean was, and Ruby supposed she might have guessed from the beginning, or perhaps if she'd gone back and spent more time around them….as Dean kissed the Crossroads Demon, sealing the deal, the fabric of hell shook and groaned, Azazel laughed, and Lilith screamed in rage. And Ruby smiled, deep in her ageless being. She would train him. Grow him up, and welcome Him, and then…freedom. And justice. Sam would learn to appreciate his part. He was demon-blooded, after all, and meant for greater things than sordid hunts in snow and peeling motel rooms. She caressed the prophetic verse in her thoughts:

'With this advantage then  
To union, and firm Faith, and firm accord,  
More than can be in Heavn, we now return  
To claim our just inheritance of old.'

The End.

A/N: the final quotation is from Paradise Lost, II. 35-38.


End file.
